Harry Potter and the Owl that is Totally Not Suspicious At All
by appalachianblue
Summary: Draco's first day as an animagus doesn't go so well. Harry finds a hurt owl and talks to it way too much. Really Harry? Would an owl actually help you redecorate? They're color blind, Harry.
1. Who? Who?

**1: Who? Who?**

* * *

Harry froze. A white shape, almost silver in the moonlight, lay in the patch of mud he'd attempted to designate an herb garden. It was an owl. Harry's breath caught in his throat. It'd been over a year since he'd seen Hedwig knocked out the air by the green flash of a killing curse, but he couldn't help wonder if maybe it was just now she was hitting the earth. Another of his ghosts coming back to haunt him. A dark chuckle forced its way out - the sound half misery, half panic, and across the yard a wing twitched.

Harry dashed into his kitchen to grab a thick towel, cursing himself. There was a bird dying and he was being maudlin when he could _do_ something about it.

The owl struggled wildly. Harry winced as he wrapped up the obviously broken wing, and again as the owl got in a good scratch down his forearm.

Inside was dry and warm, which seemed like an improvement over cold mud, but Harry, looking at the bundle of misery and murder in his arms, couldn't be quite sure what else to do. Bind the wing, but not while the bird was looking at him like that. Could you give owls sleeping draught? He didn't think that'd been covered in Care of Magical Creatures. Harry blinked and grabbed a pinch of floo powder.

Hagrid answered his fire call groggily. "All righ', Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Hagrid. Er, sorry to wake you and all." It was later than he'd realized. He hadn't felt like sleeping. "Just…" Harry thrust out the owl.

"An owl? Where'd yeh find the bugger?" Hagrid shuffled closer to the fire and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "An' with a broken wing. Poor chap."

Hagrid shrugged off Harry's questions about how to safely knock the bird out before tending to it.

"Bite yeh? Don' you worry, Harry. A few nips won' hurt."

It turned out Harry did not need to transfigure a suit of armor from a bath robe and oven mitt before fighting to wrap the wing - though he planned it out with the slow methodicalness of plans formed past 1am. There was an avian equivalent to skelo-gro that Hagrid handed him through the floo.

Harry tipped the prescribed amount into a dish that the owl showed absolutely no intention of drinking from.

"Just pry his beak open," Hagrid motioned helpfully from the fire. "Yeh can do it, Harry." He yawned. "Bring that bottle back when yeh visit, will yeh?" And with that he shut off the floo and disappeared.

Harry stared helplessly at the bird. He set the potion down and awkwardly fumbled his wand out of his sweatpants pocket. His right hand was holding the owl and it seemed too late to switch. Harry sighed and pointed his wand at the attic. "Accio, Hedwig's cage." His voice caught on the words, but despite his stumble and jerky left-handedness, there was still a series of sharp clangs as the cage worked it's way out of the pile of boxes. He'd deal with that mess tomorrow.

A quick cleaning charm removed the worst of the dust. Harry rolled the owl in easily enough, but looking at it's glazed eyes and unsteady stance, he thought he'd prefer a bite. It was a barn owl from its distinctive heart-shaped face, but paler even than normal and with unusual gray eyes.

Harry slid in a dish of water and rummaged through his fridge. He rather wanted Molly's beef stew for himself, but upon sniffing everything else in the fridge (there wasn't much), he ladled chunks of beef and vegetable into another dish. Harry eyed the swaying owl and slid half of the stew back into the fridge and cut the smaller portion into bite-sized pieces. "If you can eat that and keep it down, you can have more."

The owl showed no signs of touching the water or stew, and especially not the cup of skelo-gro.

"Don't particularly blame you on that one, mate."

The owl slowly closed its silver eyes and slumped against the side of the cage. Harry stared. "Please be exhausted and not dead," he pleaded. Harry ran his hand through his hair. He did not want to deal with this.

Harry didn't know if he should force the bird to have some food and water, or just leave it alone. He resisted the urge to fire call Hagrid again. Surely he had a book on owls around here somewhere. Hermione gave the stacks of paper to him often enough. Mostly, however, they were all quidditch and Muggle history. Probably cause that's what he had told her he liked.

Ron, on the other hand, had actually gifted him a manual in 4th year after he realized that Harry hadn't purposefully thrown himself into a death-tournament he was patently unprepared for. Ron'd said vaguely that it might be useful. That particular year it really, really hadn't been, but Harry had appreciated the intent. He'd just _accioed_ the book from the attic with another round of clatter and mustered the courage to go see if the owl was still alive, when it moved. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Draco woke up slowly. His arm throbbed. He moved it and a sharp pain shot through the limb. He hissed but it came out as a soft hoot. Draco blinked. His eyes felt… big. And when he looked around, his head moved, too. Draco cursed. He remembered flying, long swoops over the countryside. He hadn't been pleased, exactly, to find out that his animagus was an owl. It was rather… common. The first thrill of flying, however, had rather settled any doubts he'd had. One wouldn't think it'd be that much better than a broomstick, but they'd be dead wrong.

He'd only had one glorious hour of gliding through the dark sky, adjusting to his new senses, however, before it had all gone rather pear shaped. There'd been a thestral, and falling. He'd passed out for a bit, he thought. Then there'd been a person… He remembered being trapped and manhandled, too hurt and confused to transform. Draco panicked, banging his hurt wing painfully against the bars of his cage. His _cage._ This wouldn't have happened if his animagus form had been something better, like, he didn't know, a _dragon._ He'd still be able to fly and also non-verbally _roast_ whoever had dared to stick him in this metal contraption.

"Whoah, whoah," a voice soothed. Draco froze. His head swiveled automatically towards the sound. Towering above him was Harry Potter. Of course. The fight went out of him. Draco was so, so tired of everything going wrong. Of course Harry Potter would be here. He was… he was an owl and he was in a _cage_ and the person who'd put him there was none other than Harry bloody Potter. Draco swayed dizzily.

"C'mon," Potter pleaded and Draco eyed him warily. Everything hurt.

"Just drink some water, eat some food. Then you can go back to sleep." The black-haired wizard pointed a finger at a blue cup. "And if you'll drink that even though I know it's nasty, your wing will be all healed up and I can let you out."

Draco wanted to snort. Bloody Potter trying to reason with an owl. As if it could understand him. But well. Draco supposed he could. And while he really, really didn't want to eat anything, skele-gro wasn't good to take on an empty stomach.

Draco sipped at the water and Potter's face lit up as if he'd witnessed a miracle. The detail with which Draco could see his pores should have been off-putting. It should have been creepy how owl vision faded Potter's warm brown skin to gray-scale. But somehow Potter still had a stupidly nice smile. The git. Draco scowled. Or would have if he had lips.

Next, Draco eyed the stew. At least it wasn't raw mice. Though if Potter had cooked it Draco wondered if he wouldn't prefer a mouse. Potter's ineptitude at potions did not particularly indicate culinary skill. Or basic food safety.

Piece by piece, Draco picked through the stew. Except the carrots. His owl palate was probably completely different than his human one, but it really just wasn't worth the risk. Finally, Draco was finished. It had been exhausting. He glared at Potter. The git was nearly clapping. It wasn't as if Draco'd defeated a Dark Lord. He'd eaten _food._

His wing still pulsed with pain, but Draco closed his eyes to rest for a moment before tackling the skele-gro. It would taste revolting. And hurt to boot.

Potter hefted himself from the chair where he'd been avidly watching Draco eat. "Hold on," he said, "I've got an idea."

Draco snorted. The sound came out oddly.

Potter came back with another dish of stew chunks. He carefully dipped one into the skele-gro and held it out.

Draco strongly considered biting him. But, well, he was exhausted. And how many opportunities did one really have to be hand fed by the Chosen One?

Draco took the piece of meat delicately and swallowed it down. His wing began tingling uncomfortably, but before he could pay much attention, Harry held out another chunk of beef. "You're doing great. I know your wing feels weird, but just keep eating and it'll feel much better."

Draco tipped his head to swallow the new morsel. Being an owl was rather easy. If you were an owl, then apparently Harry Potter would look at you with those green eyes that Draco _couldn't even see in color right now_ full of concern and be happy with you for _eating._

Not that Potter would have had as easy of a time with a normal owl. Even disguised by surprisingly good stew, the skele-gro was disgusting.

Eventually, Draco shook his wing and the bone felt strange and wobbly, but whole. Potter coaxed him out of the cage, and Draco spread his wings gladly. They felt fine, but his feathers were a mess. Aggravated, he set to grooming.

Potter laughed. "You're a pretty bird, and I'd say you know it."

Draco glared, but did not stop picking through the bent quills. Just because Potter had never met a hair brush didn't mean everyone else had to be as lazy. And of course he was a fine looking owl. It wasn't like he'd worried his animagus would be a _troll._ Except that he rather had. When his gut was roiling and his thoughts were ugly and the memories of screaming morphed into nightmares about being split open and finding something violent and scary and _dark._

Potter stretched. "I'm off to bed for the night. Don't get into too much trouble."

Draco found he did not have an eyebrow to raise. Instead, he glared. His range of expression may be limited, but he had a very satisfying glare.

* * *

Next up: Harry buys food and treats for the owl he is not at all planning on keeping. Draco does not eat mice, thank you very much.


	2. Owl Treats and Oversharing

**2: Owl Treats and Oversharing**

In the morning, Potter made himself toast and gave Draco more beef stew. He looked over the owl speculatively. "You healed up pretty nice. Ready to fly home?" He opened a window. Draco eyed it balefully. He could risk the skies and hope to make it back home from who knows where he was. He didn't even have his wand, which seemed rather stupid in hindsight. Or he could stay here. Just long enough to get a look at _The Daily Prophet_ and see if he'd been reported missing. Just a little extra time for the soreness in his wing to fade completely.

Harry didn't want a new owl. Hedwig hadn't just been a bird who brought him the post. She'd been, well, family. Through long summers at the Dursley's she'd kept him sane.

Hermione had brought it up, once. He hadn't responded well.

Anyhow, it wasn't like Harry was big into writing long responses. He'd scrawl a response and send it back immediately. And he liked floo calls. It wasn't inconvenient, really.

But now he had an owl. Not permanently, but it seemed a bit much to force it out before it felt well enough to fly home.

"I need to go to the shops." Harry wasn't sure he should talk to the owl as much as he was. Hermione would probably diagnose that as something. Loneliness, maybe. "I'll grab you some frozen mice."

Draco hooted sharply. He would _not_ eat frozen mice.

"I know, sounds tasty doesn't it?" Harry mumbled as he pulled on a pair of trainers. Draco was almost distracted by the state of the shoes. There were holes. Harry wasn't just wearing Muggle shoes, he was wearing _old_ Muggle shoes. Thankfully, the prospect of frozen mice brought him back to task. No one but him needed to know he'd been Harry Potter's owl for a few days, but he couldn't live with himself knowing he'd eaten _frozen mice._

Draco fluttered towards the strange white cabinet Potter had pulled stew out of.

"What? Are you hungry already? That's why I'm going to the shops. No food left."

Draco stared. Had the idiot really let himself run out of food? Obviously house elf rights weren't working out too well for him.

"And if you'd rather have stew, you need to hit up Molly Weasley. Those were leftovers from the Burrow."

Draco gagged. It'd been bad enough thinking Harry had cooked it. He'd eaten food prepared by a _Weasley._ He could feel his feathers tingeing _ginger._

Harry looked at the owl oddly and, assured it was not choking, left.

Potter had left the window open. Draco ignored it and looked around the room. Small, shabby - it was what he expected from the Potter who showed up to first year in hand-me down Muggle clothing, but it rather seemed the Savior of the Wizarding World could do a bit better.

The sofa was stacked with blankets that screamed Weasley, there were a couple of pictures on the mantle, but other than that the place didn't look particularly lived in. Not, a small voice whispered in the back of Draco's head, that his newly renovated bedroom did either.

Despite the blankets, there was no sign Potter had shacked up with girl Weasley. A brief worry seized Draco at the thought of a cat like Granger's half-kneazle monstrosity, but pets also seemed to be absent. In fact - Draco cocked his head - Potter didn't even seem to have an owl. Potter'd had that rather nice snowy in school, Draco remembered. Not that he would have noticed it had it not been so very white and flashy. And perched next to Potter's stupid face.

When Harry returned, he did indeed have frozen mice. He raised an eyebrow at the owl as it turned its beak up. "Really? Then I suppose you don't want an owl treat either?" He shook the pack tantalizingly. They were high end, too. The middle-shelf blue pack had been too familiar. The owl did not seem to care. It fluffed its feathers up dramatically and retreated from the bag of treats. Harry popped it open. "Look, just owl treats. They're not scary."

Draco was reeling from the fact that Potter thought he was scared rather than _disgusted_ when the black-haired wizard threw one into his own mouth. "See, perfectly safe."

Draco stared. The _barbarian._ On the other hand, owls did seem to like them. And really, who would ever find out?

He leaned forward cautiously. Potter rattled the pack again in what he apparently thought was an appealing manner. Draco snatched one. It… was not bad. Not bad at all. Draco leant in for another, but Potter sealed the pack up. "Not quite yet. You need to eat more real food." He looked meaningfully at the dead mice. Draco considered how fast he'd have to move to claw out Potter's stupid green eyeballs. Potter seemed to get the message and backed off, hands in the air. "Whoah, there. I'm just gonna fix myself some lunch and you can eat whenever you want." He gestured to the open window. "Or leave whenever you want."

Potter did something that might be called cooking except it didn't even involve a _wand_ and the only ingredient was chicken _._ Draco flapped over to watch. His left wing was still weak and he nearly veered into Potter's shoulder. "Whoah!" Potter shooed him off. "The stove's hot."

Draco peered down at the pan Potter seemed to think was called a _stove._ There was indeed steam rising from a piece of chicken. It wasn't exactly impressive but it did smell rather nice.

Harry watched the owl, concern about it getting burnt fading as he realized it was eyeing his lunch. "Really? I do my good deed rescuing a poor, pathetic stray and I end up with your prissy self?"

The owl ran its beak along an already gleaming feather. Harry stared and got another piece of chicken from the fridge. "Not the first time I've fallen for good looks over personality, though, is it?" he muttered as he threw it in the pan.

Draco watched Potter cut chicken with something resembling contentment. He'd decided to become an animagus mainly because he needed something to do. His house arrest had ended a few months ago, but leaving the manor wasn't exactly pleasant. Draco wasn't sure which was worse, the vicious scowls he received in the street or the self-loathing that came with his inability to not sneer back. There were a lot of reasons Draco had wanted to complete the animagus process. Not being himself for a while was one of them. And as Harry sarcastically arranged bits of chicken into a crown and presented it with a flourish, it didn't seem like it'd been all that bad of an idea.

Harry was still grinning as he ate his own plate of chicken. The owl was ridiculous, but Harry hadn't smiled this much since… The happiness faded and he pushed the plate away. He couldn't really remember. And wasn't that sad? And wasn't it sad that what had triggered this bout of misery was being _happy?_ Harry tugged at his hair and buried his head into the sofa that he didn't really like but didn't hate either and so hadn't mustered the energy to do anything about. He'd been so excited to buy this place. The Burrow was too crowded - both with people and their absences, and well Grimmauld place had never been particularly cheery. This tiny house with its yard big enough for flying - it was a fresh start. It was _home_ and it was _his_ and he loved it fiercely. And he was still miserable.

Potter was slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands. Oh, Salazar. Was he _crying._ This was _mortifying._ Draco nearly left then and there. He'd deal with the wilds. Better than _tears._ From _Potter_ no less. But well, Potter had arranged his chicken in a crown. Draco fluttered over to the back of the sofa.

Potter looked up blearily as he felt the weight settle. He smiled weakly. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a mess."

Carefully clearing his mind of everything except what a _disaster_ Potter's hair was, Draco leaned over and carefully began grooming it. Potter tried to shake him off, but he also laughed, so Draco stubbornly continued. Finally, Potter leaned back and let him.

"Thanks," he muttered. "I mope a lot nowadays."

Draco had wondered what Potter was up to. Besides uncomfortable looking pictures in the Prophet from charity balls, the Boy Who Lived had managed to stay surprisingly low profile.

"I wasn't really supposed to live, you know?" Draco struggled to keep separating strands of hair. He really wasn't cut out to be Harry Potter's avian therapist. On the other hand, he was a tad curious, and Potter's hair was a _mess._

 _"_ Hadn't really thought past Voldemort dying." Draco shuddered. He still didn't like hearing the name said aloud. "I thought I'd be an Auror, maybe. But, it was more I wished I already was. Seemed better to have an Auror handle everything than a school kid. Now, I don't really know what I want to do."

Draco gave a soft hoot in acknowledgment. He didn't know what he wanted to do to the point where he wasn't even worried about when he'd stop wanting to be an _owl._

 _"_ Like I worked really hard at Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm pretty good at it. But I'm also really, really sick of it _."_

Draco hooted again. He liked Potions. He tinkered around a bit. The thought of putting in enough effort to make a career out of it right now was nothing short of painful.

Harry sat still for a few more moments, then plopped the owl onto his shoulder and stood once it had stopped fluttering. "We're going to go look at my garden. It doesn't really need water cause it's been raining so much, but I might water it anyways."

The garden was, in fact, rather flooded. Harry cast a few drying charms, then bent down to weed while the owl stretched its wings. He was still flying a little lopsided, and Harry supposed that meant he'd stay a little longer. It wasn't so bad, having something to take care of. It's what he'd been trying for with the garden and while it had the advantage of him not really caring if everything died, it also wouldn't groom his hair when he was sad. Actually, Harry thought, if he took Neville up on his offer of helping out, it probably _would._ Neville and Luna were good for each other, but it was sometimes hard to decide if they were good for other people.

The owl followed him back inside. "I'm really not planning on keeping you long term, you know. I realize your wing's not quite right yet, but I still wanted to warn you." The owl ignored him. "You've probably got a real posh home, spoiled as you are, so I don't expect you to _want_ to stay. But if you did, it just wouldn't work."

He was pretty sure he could feel the owl judging him.

"My last owl was killed." He wasn't sure why he'd said that. He wasn't normally into spilling his guts like this. But the owl had fluffed up in horror as if it understood and that was comforting because obviously it didn't.

"The curse was meant for me. That happened a lot actually. Someone dying for me. So probably I should be less torn up about an owl, but I'm really, really not."

The owl just stared at him and Harry smiled weakly. "Do you want another owl treat?"

Draco did not want another owl treat, but he did want Potter to _stop talking_ so he hooted somewhat desperately and swallowed the treat queasily. Again, it tasted good, but it was also exceedingly strange because he could tell it would not taste at all pleasant to a human. Except maybe Potter. But Potter was ridiculous. And prone to oversharing.

Potter sat down on the sofa to read and lacking anything better to do, Draco perched behind him. Potter was reading about the Roman Empire. It appeared to be a Muggle account, and while Draco was forced to admit it was a fresh perspective, he would have to find some way to anonymously gift Potter something by a wizarding author. Muggle gladiators were brutal, but wizards had had _dragons._

Potter snorted at something. "I remember liking this author, but having read more recent stuff that doesn't willfully misinterpret any history of homosexuality, there are some definite gaps."

Draco fluffed his feathers in surprise. He would maybe like to read that recent stuff. He didn't know of any wizarding books that dealt with queer history. Not that they were likely to be in the manor library if they existed.

"I rather thought the wizarding world would be more open-minded about that sort of thing than the Muggle one. I suppose I was just used to being _happier_ in the wizarding world. Never mind the whole dark lord trying to kill me thing" - Draco rather thought that was important - "still better than where I grew up." Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know where Harry had grown up. For a long time, he'd never really thought about Harry as separate from Hogwarts.

"Anyhow, it's not like the wizarding-world's prejudices are _worse._ I just. There were a lot of other things on my mind, and I like girls, too. I've only ever actually crushed on one guy and it wouldn't have worked out for a whole lot of reasons. It didn't seem worth it to really think about. Still doesn't." Potter shuddered. " _The Prophet_ would have a field day. Pointless when I don't even feel like dating."

Draco hooted rather pathetically. Potter had just come out to him as bisexual. He wanted to Obliviate himself and he also really wanted to know _who Potter had liked._

"Ginny knows, but I haven't actually told Ron or Hermione." Potter tilted his head. "Hermione suspects. Ron probably won't believe it till he sees me snogging a bloke."

Draco felt like he was probably going to die.

Potter patted him absentmindedly. "Hermione wants me to go to therapy. I kinda see the appeal I guess. To talk to a stranger." He shrugged. "But she hasn't found anyone willing to swear an Unbreakable Vow not to go to _The Prophet_ so… we'll see."

Draco had a therapist. She was rather good and he had no plans to share her with Potter but well, pureblood families knew about discretion. The kind of firms Harry needed were the ones that wouldn't even acknowledge their existence to someone named Granger. Not, Draco supposed, that Potter would take that the right way were he to tell him.

For dinner, they had more chicken. Potter arranged Draco's into a neat square and added a squiggle of sriracha. "Don't actually eat that please," he added a bit panicked. Draco was neither stupid nor a masochist. He did not. Potter, however, was clearly unprepared for a pet. Any snarky thoughts about how he'd managed to keep an owl alive throughout school were quickly vanished by the memory of Potter's haunted look when he said she'd been killed.

After Potter cleaned up - he didn't even use magic, Draco was disgusted - they went outside. Potter pulled out a broom from a shed and together they circled the yard, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Draco got tired of moping and tried a few dives and loops. He hadn't really tried any adventurous flying yet. Even with his sore wing, the naturalness with which the movements came was glorious. Draco rather thought he'd be better on a broom after spending some time flying as an owl. Give Potter a run for his money.

Draco flapped out a rather near miss with the ground to find Potter watching him and laughing. "Is that how you crash landed then?"

Then Potter pulled off a perfectly executed and frankly beautiful dive. Draco wondered if Potter's animagus would also be a bird. Or maybe a sentient broomstick.

Potter was still grinning when they got inside, but the light left his eyes rather quickly. Panicked, Draco hopped on his shoulder and pulled at his hair. It had worked well enough the first time. Indeed, Potter gave a sort of half smile as he set him on the sofa. "Night, owl," he yawned.

* * *

Next up: Harry lets an owl tell him how to decorate his house.


	3. Don't name it you'll get attached

**3: Don't name it you'll get attached**

Draco woke panting. He hadn't realized owls could have nightmares. It had been… more abstract… than normal, but he could still hear screaming echoing in his head. Actually, there was definitely screaming. Draco stiffened, cursing himself for not having his wand, then realized it was only Potter also having a nightmare. A very unpleasant one. That he did not want to sit here and listen to. Draco flapped towards the door that by default of not being the bathroom, must be Potter's bedroom.

Draco hooted sharply, and pecked at the door. Potter continued yelling. Draco hooted again until finally the noise stopped. "Hedwig?" Potter's drowsy voice murmured. "I'm sorry but the window's barred. You know I'd let you out if I could." Then Potter seemed to come fully awake. Something heavy thunked against the other side of the door. It sounded like Potter had thrown a book. "Go away!" he yelled. His voice cracked. Draco retreated and pretended he couldn't hear Potter crying on the other side of the door.

Draco knew there was a time he would have mocked Potter for crying over an owl, but Draco had bawled for his father who wasn't even dead, only in prison. He'd cried for Aunt Bellatrix and part of it had been plain relief that she was gone, but he'd still cried.

When Harry woke up, the owl wasn't in the house. Harry felt rather guilty for throwing something at it, even if there had been a door in the way. His temper wasn't something he really liked about himself. He got so _defensive._

"Owl?" he called out, feeling a bit silly for not having named it something. "Prissy? King? Pretty Feathers?" There was no response, which was to be expected. He had rather _tried_ to scare it off and he didn't even want it to stay. Still, after making himself toast, he cut up a piece of chicken and stuck the plate on the windowsill. Not that he wanted the bird to come back, per se, but if it was still hanging around, it shouldn't go hungry just cause he'd had a nightmare. Its wing was still a little wobbly.

Harry drank his tea and nibbled his toast and worried about the owl right up until he looked back at the window and found it eating chicken.

"Alright, then," Harry smiled. "You need a name. A temporary one, mind. Til you go back to your real home."

The owl didn't even blink, just continued eating. "How about Dainty?" The owl ignored him. "Royal? Heartface?" The owl glared and Harry winced. "I know, that one was rather bad. Erm. Chicken?" The owl flapped back outside. Harry followed it and stood calling names up to where the owl sat on the roof.

"How about Broomstick?"

The owl blinked and ruffled its feathers in something that approximated a shrug. "We'll go with that, then," Harry said. "I can always abbreviate it to BS."

Harry ducked, laughing, as the owl swooped at him.

Hearing Potter address him as Broomstick of all things was exceedingly strange, but Draco'd been getting sick of listening to Potter's bad names. At least a broomstick was something he liked. Not that chicken _wasn't,_ but. There were obviously worse options than a quidditch reference.

After a few hours flying and lunch, Draco watched Potter watch his sofa. It was a rather dull sofa. Comfy enough, but drab and somewhat threadbare. Really not worthy of the amount of attention Potter was investing in looking at it. Finally, Potter raised his wand.

Draco watched as Potter transfigured the sofa into something very similar but much, much more plaid.

Potter winced. "I was probably thinking a bit too hard of McGonagall's lecture there." He tried again. They both frowned at a leather monstrosity that about summed up how Draco thought the Gryffindor common room probably looked. He was afraid that if he could see color it would be red. He hooted in indignation when Potter didn't immediately try again. "Yeah, you're probably right," Potter frowned.

Next was velvet which was actually an improvement so Draco nearly let it slide, but… then Potter called the color _grape_ and Draco doubted that would do any favors to Potter's lovely warm brown skin tone.

A lot of flapping and a few color changes later, Potter eyed his new sky blue velvet couch with satisfaction. He side-eyed Draco, as if expecting more disapproval, but Draco shrugged. In grey scale at least, it looked good with Weasley blankets, which was something of a feat. It wasn't _elegant -_ the couch was far too large and squishy, but it was bright and homey.

After lunch (more chicken, but at least Potter'd opened a can of green beans - _Draco_ knew more cooking spells which was saying something), Draco casually clawed up Potter's curtains. They were dark and the pattern was awful. There were _cherubs._

Potter started to get mad, probably fearful for his new sofa, but then he looked closer at the curtains. "Huh. I don't actually know if that's a rabbit or a deer."

Draco wasn't certain what color Potter finally went with for the curtains, but it was a light and airy material, so he hooted in approval. Potter laughed. "I literally found the prissiest owl in existence. And now I'm letting it redecorate." He laughed again. "Do you know how insane that is, Broomstick?"

Draco stuck his nose up and didn't reply. He had been worried he'd gone a little to far with not acting particularly owl-like, but Potter was as oblivious as ever.

In fact, Potter was already looking around for something new to work on. His eyes got soft when they landed on the pictures on the mantel. "I've been meaning to get some proper frames for these."

Draco found that he didn't need to move. If he focused his eyes he could see the people in the photos all the way from the kitchen counter. One was of Potter with Granger and Weasley, which was to be expected, another was Potter's father at Hogwarts with Sirius Black and what he was pretty sure was a younger Professor Lupin. And Peter Pettigrew. It was an odd photo. Draco had heard that Black hadn't actually killed Potter's parents, but wasn't that because Pettigrew _had?_ But Potter didn't monologue and Draco couldn't ask so he was left to wonder. The last photo was a toddler. Draco had really no clue where he came from and his mind was already jumping to secret love child when Potter sighed. "I really should spend more time with Teddy." Draco gulped. Was Teddy Potter's son's _father_? "Andromeda shouldn't have to raise him all by herself."

Draco froze. His family was pretty great at ensuring you didn't accidentally hear anyone's name on the street. Why in the world was his aunt raising Potter's love child? He hooted in what was hopefully a quizzical manner.

"It's just all I can see is Tonks and Lupin. I got so _mad_ at Lupin for leaving them, and now here I am. I go over once a week, but it hurts to look at him. The kid deserves someone who wants to be there. And I just make Andromeda sad."

Draco scanned desperately through the names. Andromeda. Tonks. Lupin. Tonks and Lupin had a _baby?_ He wondered if his mother knew. Probably not. She might like to, but he rather doubted Andromeda wanted to see her sister, even if it wasn't the one who'd killed her daughter.

Draco was enough stunned by the knowledge that he had a new family member that he barely registered when Potter went out.

* * *

Next up: Harry is a lousy cook. Teddy meets his cousin, who is still an owl.


	4. Egg Salad and Emotions

**4: Egg Salad and Emotions**

Harry returned with picture frames and take-out. "You can have plain chicken if you want it," he told Broomstick, "but I thought you might be offended if I tried to eat something fancier than you." The owl ruffled his feathers and Harry rather thought he was correct. "It's chicken saag. With as little spice as possible. Teddy likes it, so you can probably handle it."

The owl picked at the spinach and chicken dish cautiously at first, but with growing enthusiasm. He was still an exceedingly clean eater. Much, much cleaner than Teddy. And with less of a predilection for changing his hair to match his food. Harry smiled. "I should have Teddy over. His hair will about match the sofa. He'll like that."

Broomstick hooted something Harry couldn't interpret. He ruffled its feathers and got bit for his efforts. "Hey," he scolded. "Eat the nice food I got you, not my fingers."

The owl glared, not at all contrite, and made a show of settling its feathers back into place.

Harry himself had chicken tikka masala. Hermione rolled her eyes whenever he ordered it, because it was the least adventurous thing on the menu, but Harry liked it. He wanted to learn to cook it. Sirius had said Harry's grandmother was a good cook and Remus'd found some recipes he'd got off of her. Harry had put them with the photo album Hagrid had made and the handful of other mementos he had of his family, and then because that had been a bad year he'd went and started a flaming row with Ron when what he really wanted was to yell at the Dursleys for being utter worms. Petunia must've known Harry's grandmother could cook, but all he could hear was Uncle Vernon scoffing about his father being _foreign_.

The recipes were vague and incomplete and Harry had no hope of making any of them because he didn't know what half of the spices were and he could barely make his own pasta sauce, but he'd layered them in protection spells and tucked them away. One day he'd learn.

Harry put away the leftovers and looked around for Broomstick. The owl was watching the mantle. Harry framed the pictures and the owl hooted softly. "You really like decorating, don't you?" This hoot was sharper, and Harry left him alone. Broomstick was stellar at picking up on tones of voice. Harry read for a bit, and when he looked up, the owl was still watching the mantle. He'd heard somewhere - probably Hermione - that owl vision was extremely good at picking up motion. The little moving people were probably as good at catching the eye as a nice mouse. Not that Broomstick seemed to care for mice.

Harry watched the photos himself for a few minutes. Teddy blinked sleepily in his photo. It was a bit out of date with how fast the boy was growing. Harry wanted to get a photo with a bit more action. His godchild was not fond of sitting still.

Harry mustered up his courage and flooed Andromeda before he overthought it.

"Hello." He waved awkwardly. Andromeda greeted in a whisper and Harry realized Teddy was probably already asleep. "Er. Sorry. I didn't notice the time. I was wondering if you and Teddy wanted lunch? Tomorrow? I mean to come over here and have lunch."

Broomstick hooted in the background and Harry blushed harder. It was a very judgmental owl he'd taken in.

Andromeda blinked and yawned, but nodded. "Sure. We'll come at one." And then she was gone.

...

The next morning, as Harry rifled through the fridge for jam to put on his toast, his eyes widened. He shut the fridge and leant his head against it. "I invited Teddy and Andromeda over for lunch." He looked in the fridge and nothing magically appeared. He briefly considered summoning Kreacher from Hogwarts, but instead resolved on egg salad sandwiches. It was not fancy, but then again the guest of honor was going to throw half of it on the floor anyways. Andromeda would be happy that he tried, Harry reassured himself morosely.

Harry did like his egg salad. He put curry powder in it. He'd seen it on a cooking show and while it made him feel a bit like he was affecting "finding his heritage," it was delicious. And it wasn't like he _wasn't_ desperately trying to connect with his family. He'd even tried a bottle of Fleamont's hair potion. However, the family hair seemed to have evolved faster than the product and it was largely ineffective.

Harry plated leftover chicken saag for Broomstick without really thinking about it. He felt he was getting rather too accustomed to the owl. It had been flying rather well that morning and still showed no signs of leaving. Still, that was a problem for after he ran to the store for bread. Because that was a necessary part of sandwiches and he had two slices left.

Draco watched the clock impatiently. He didn't know why he was so nervous to see his aunt and cousin considering they wouldn't even know it was him. But, he supposed, if they didn't like him as an owl his chances as a human were about as high as Dumbledore letting Slytherin win the house cup.

Interacting with a Harry Potter who didn't hate him had rather spoiled Draco. He had nearly turned back into a human last night after Potter had gone to sleep. Just to have hands again and see what color the curtains were. He could turn back before morning. But he hadn't. It felt like there was subtle magic in this house, and Draco didn't want to break the spell.

...

At one exactly, a woman that looked frighteningly like Aunt Bellatrix stepped out of the fireplace. But before Draco could panic too much, she smiled and set down a bundle of excited toddler. The boy stumbled over to Potter and Draco blinked as his hair seemed to darken and curl.

Potter smiled. "Hello there, Teddy." He picked him up. "That's a very nice hair-do if I don't say so myself, but I think you'll like what I've done with the furniture."

Potter spun Teddy towards the sofa and the little boy squealed. His eyes widened and Draco watched in confusion as his hair lightened again until it apparently matched the sofa. Draco fluttered his wings as he realized that the boy had inherited his mother's metamorphmagus abilities. And that that meant he'd been mimicking Potter's hair when he first arrived. Draco really wanted to see that with human eyes. Not that that was likely.

Teddy had caught his movement and held his hands out towards Draco. "Owl!" he screeched. Potter pulled him back. "He doesn't like people mussing his feathers."

Draco hooted and hoped it conveyed that he didn't bite _children,_ just gits whose faces were too pretty for their own good.

It didn't seem successful though, because Potter led Teddy away and distracted him with sandwiches cut into flowers and triangles. Draco had a strange moment of jealousy. He'd thought Potter only put too much effort into arranging mediocre food for _him._ Or him as Broomstick.

Draco flapped outside to sulk, but couldn't help listening in on the conversation at the little kitchen table. Once the topics of how big Teddy had gotten and what new words he'd learned had been exhausted, the silences began to stretch out longer. Draco cleaned a feather aggressively. Really, Potter had no social skills. Also, he was probably making himself miserable about it. When Draco flapped into the kitchen, Potter's smile was indeed rather forced.

Andromeda had thankfully been raised somewhat properly. She latched onto the owl's entrance immediately. "I meant to ask about your new owl. He's very beautiful."

Broomstick preened and Harry grinned. "He knows it, too." Harry didn't even think to tell Andromeda that the arrangement was temporary until after he'd finished the story of finding him.

"He helped me redecorate. Which I realize is a little suspect because owls are color-blind, but I think we did pretty well."

Andromeda smiled. Draco suspected she thought Potter was joking. "It is much brighter in here. The new curtains are lovely." It went unspoken that the old ones had been quite hideous.

While Harry and Andromeda got up to try a few wallpaper spells, Teddy snuck unnoticed closer to Draco. The owl eyed him warily, but held still. Harry looked over just as Teddy sunk a sticky hand into Broomstick's gleaming feathers. Harry yelped and rushed over, but Broomstick didn't bite the toddler like Harry'd worried he would.

Harry put his hands on his hips. "Oh so he can put egg salad on you, but I can't muss a few feathers out of place?"

The owl remained perfectly motionless as Teddy stroked him with too much force and not enough coordination. In fact, the owl seemed somewhat frozen with terror, so Harry extricated Teddy carefully. Broomstick eyed Harry reproachfully, as if he'd withheld chicken rather than saving him from sticky fingers. Then he flapped to the sofa and began cleaning his feathers.

"He's a good owl," Andromeda commented. "Teddy would have deserved a bite if he'd got one."

Harry shook his head. "He sure bit _me._ "

Andromeda smiled. "Yes, well you should have known better."

After a moment, Andromeda sat up straighter. "Harry, I've been meaning to talk to you about something." Harry joined her on the couch. "Yeah?"

"It might upset you."  
Harry clenched his fists and forced a smile. "Well, you have to continue now."  
"I've. Well. I've been thinking of getting in touch with my sister."

"Oh." Harry deflated. A thousand horrible things had dashed through his mind, but that… "That wouldn't be so bad, would it?" he asked.

Andromeda shook her head. "No. It's just been so very long. I feel like I'm using Teddy as a bargaining chip, but well. Sometimes people are much better about children than they are about adults. I think she'd like to meet Teddy. We both lost family." Her eyes were distant. Harry took her hand. This was why it was hard to be around Andromeda. Her sadness was too much like his own. "And maybe we could get some back. I've never met Draco, you know."

Harry patted the back of her hand awkwardly. "I think you should. Maybe just you and Narcissa first. But you can say it's because you'd like her to meet Teddy. It's not a bad thing to want him to have more people in his life. But it's also okay to want to see your sister again." If Harry had siblings, he thought he'd forgive them anything. But then again, Bellatrix had been Andromeda's sister, so maybe it was more complicated than that.

Andromeda sniffed lightly and Harry panicked. "And Draco. Well he's…" Harry didn't know what Malfoy was. "He's someone to get to know." He paused. " _I_ wouldn't mind getting to know- er, re-know him. Malfoy, that is. Er. Draco."

Draco had no clue what that sentence meant but he thought he liked the sound of it. He liked the sound of it very, very much.

* * *

Next up: Harry tells Broomstick about Draco. Hermione is not an idiot.


	5. Harry that's not an owl

**5: Harry that's not an owl**

* * *

Over toast the next morning, Harry eyed Broomstick speculatively. "I'm going to talk about a person. Because if you _were_ a therapist, we'd spend a lot of time on this person. His name's Draco Malfoy. Andromeda wants to meet him. Which probably means I'll need to re-meet him at some point."

Broomstick hooted sharply. He sounded outraged. Harry approved. "Good. Good. That's about right. Lots of strong emotions."

Broomstick hooted again. Harry took a deep breath.

"He was a Death Eater, right, which wasn't entirely his fault, but he was also a git, see, which _was._ And I nearly killed him and he saved my life probably, and he made a bunch of stupid badges in fourth year and I had a bit of a sexuality crisis."

Broomstick blinked and hooted weakly.

"I know, right? He was a massive pureblood horror, but he was also really, really fit." Harry looked at the owl for reassurance and it responded with a sound like an owl pellet regurgitation would be eminent. Harry wrinkled his nose. "If you need to go outside and take care of that, I can keep muttering to myself about Malfoy. It wouldn't be the first time."

Broomstick squawked sickly but kept his place.

"Fifth year I could hardly stand to watch quidditch. Partly cause I couldn't play and partly cause Malfoy's uniform trousers were making me question my world view." Harry pushed up his glasses. "Physical attraction didn't really trump awful personality though." Broomstick hooted some more and Harry patted him absentmindedly. The owl was quite good at filling the pauses. "And there were some girls I liked and then people started dying and him being involved with that was much more important than the fact that I liked his face and sometimes his snark. When it wasn't racist or gendered or pureblood shite." Harry ran his hand through his hair. "The fact that I could've liked him just kinda made me hate him more. I hated a lot of things those last few years of school."

Harry put his head on the table. "To a degree, he was just doing what his father said to, and I was just doing what Dumbledore said to, and wishing that he was my father." Harry scratched at Broomstick's chest and the owl held just as still as it had for Teddy. "Was a bit more than that, though. Doesn't take a genius to figure out you shouldn't torture people." Broomstick hooted softly.

"Yeah, I know. Voldemort moved into his _house._ Can you imagine? He was too far in at that point. Do I think he should have done something dramatic and heroic and got himself killed? Kinda." Harry shook his head. "But on one side was his family and not getting them painfully dismembered and on the other was a bunch of people who'd never liked him very much." Harry buried his head in his arms and Broomstick nipped his ear softly. Harry could feel tears building. "Hedwig did that," he mumbled, and Broomstick groomed his hair instead and Harry let the tears fall. "So see, I'm very conflicted about Draco Malfoy. And I'd really like him to be a perfect happy sunshine person that I know he's not, but even then I'd like him to do it far, far away." Broomstick made soft sounds and untangled his hair and Harry cried until he felt dry and rattly inside.

Finally, he stood up, and washed his face, and went outside to fly a bit. Broomstick was flying really well now. His wing seemed almost completely healed and he seemed to get a lot of joy from diving directly at the ground and pulling up last minute. Harry grinned. "I still think that's how you got hurt."

Hermione visited in the afternoon. Her brown eyes were a bit dull. She hadn't been sleeping well, either, Harry thought. But she smiled when she saw the owl.

"You got a new owl!" Harry winced but forced a smile in return.

"Not really. I found him in the yard with a broken wing. He just doesn't seem quite ready to go home, yet."

The owl looked at Hermione imperiously and fluttered a wing.

"Well, maybe you should think about keeping him." Harry pursed his lips. Hermione raised her hands. "Just a suggestion! It's good to have company. And he might not have anywhere to go."

Hermione looked at the owl again. "He's a very nice owl, isn't he?" Then she frowned. "Harry, you said you found him in the yard?"

Harry nodded. "Why?"

Hermione shot a sharp look at the owl, then shrugged. "Oh, nothing." She puttered to Harry's fridge and praised him for having groceries, then turned and asked far too innocently. "How's your herb garden doing? We'll go have a look, shall we?"

She practically dragged him out. "Harry," she hissed. "Do you remember how many anti-owl charms you put up?"  
Harry nodded. The fan mail had been unbearable. He'd set up a very select list of people who could owl him.

Hermione was still looking at him meaningfully.

"What?"

She threw her hands up. "How in the world did that owl end up in your yard, then?"

"I guess it's not a post owl? I know you think I should get another owl, but look, just cause it's not coming from someone doesn't mean it doesn't have a home already."

"That logic is-" she shook her head, "not even the issue right now." She curled her hands into fists and paced in tight circles.

Harry watched for a minute, then interrupted her muttering. "Well? What is?"

"Harry," Hermione growled. "You don't read anything I give you, do you?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't even answer that. The spells specified that a side effect would be preventing wild owls and even birds of prey from entering your property. That's why you've been having so many problems with rabbits in your garden. Really, Harry."

Harry cocked his head. "I thought they were moles?" His brain kept spinning. "Wait!" Harry stared at Hermione. "You're saying that that owl's _not an owl_?" Harry whisper screeched. "Hermione. I've been spilling my guts to that bird all week."

"We'll have to catch it," Hermione said firmly. "Anyhow, if it's a person it shouldn't be able to be someone not on your approved list. It _could_ just be a cat transfigured by accidental magic!"

Harry mentally ran over his list of approved visitors. The owl's silvery eyes, its prissy fastidiousness - he groaned. "No, I think it's a person."

"What?! Who? Harry!"

Harry groaned again. "It was a split-second decision. You're gonna think it sounds stupid, but… ImayhaveaddedNarcissaandDracoMalfoy," he mumbled.

Hermione whipped her head to the house. "And I'm assuming you don't think that's Narcissa."

Harry's fury was rising. "I told him I had a crush on him when I was fourteen!" he hissed. Hermione stared at him for a second, "So you are bi?" then shook her head. "Not important right now. Get to the window."

Harry nodded shortly and turned just as a white blur sped from the open window.

"Owls have really good ears, don't they," Hermione said softly.

Harry shouted a jinx reflexively, but it missed and he didn't try again. Harry didn't think he could stand to curse Broomstick out of the air even if he was Draco Malfoy. So he went inside and slammed the door and didn't acknowledge Hermione when she gently opened it and slid into the seat opposite his at the table. They sat in silence while Harry did his breathing exercises. He really didn't like his temper much.

"He helped me redecorate," Harry said suddenly and Hermione stared at him.

"The sofa!" he waved at it tersely. Hermione nodded gently. "It's much better."

"I know!" Harry growled. "And the curtains. He hooted until it was something he liked. I was an idiot for thinking he was an owl."

Hermione blinked. "Well, that's not necessarily nefarious, actually." She sounded surprised.

"What in the world was he doing here then?"

"You said he was… hurt?"

"Yes, well. He _probably_ wouldn't have broken his wing on purpose. But he could have left days ago." Harry slumped. "He didn't bite Teddy."

Hermione nodded again. "Alright." She paused. "He met Teddy?"

"He was kinda fascinated with the pictures." Harry buried his head in his hands. "I just thought he liked the movement. I'm an idiot."

Hermione patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Well. Again. That's not particularly _bad._ And he would have just found out about Teddy that way right? And you said he… didn't bite him?"

Harry nodded miserably. "Teddy got egg salad on him." Hermione patted his shoulder again like that made sense.

"He groomed my hair when I was sad," Harry whispered. "I said I wouldn't keep him but I probably would have, if he were an actual owl."

Hermione got up and hugged him. They had tea and Hermione flooed someone at the Ministry because looking things up was what she did. They sent back a note that Malfoy was a registered barn owl animagus and had finished the process the day he crash landed in Harry's yard.

"So it probably was an accident?"

Hermione shrugged. "He would have been new to flying. It's quite likely."

"Oh." Harry thought there was probably a part of him that wanted Malfoy to have been trying to find him.

* * *

Next up: Harry and Draco never see each other ever again.

Jk


	6. The End

**6\. The End**

* * *

Harry waited the next day for _The Prophet_ tell-all to run, but it didn't happen. It didn't happen the next day either. Instead Harry received a package. There was a selection of business cards so simple they could only be very, very expensive. They didn't say what they were for, exactly, but he thought he could guess. There was also a book. On the cover, the Coliseum was continuously built and left to ruin. Harry set it aside. That was all.

A few days later, Harry finally opened the book. A note fell out and Harry grabbed it. His hands were suddenly sweaty but when he opened it there was only one line in Malfoy's neat flowing script.

 _I would appreciate it if you would recommend a recent Muggle history of this time period._

So Harry did. He wrapped up a favorite and walked it to the owlery in town and didn't think too hard about where he was sending it.

When he got back home, he shuffled the business cards and flooed the first address in the stack. He talked to a very polite, very discrete secretary who didn't seem to care at all that he was Harry Potter, and booked three months worth of appointments right off the bat.

Then he slept, and moped, and thought about Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who he'd hated, and liked, but mostly hated.

Andromeda and Narcissa had tea. It went… well enough, Harry supposed because they did it again. Andromeda was furious after that one, but when she calmed down she told Harry she was going to introduce Teddy to her sister and she wanted him to be there.

He spent the next week worrying about whether Draco would be there but being too scared to ask.

He wasn't there. He probably hadn't been invited. It was only Narcissa, Andromeda, Teddy, and Harry, for a painfully stiff hour at Andromeda's house. Harry found he was rather disappointed at Draco's absence. He didn't know what he wanted to say but they needed to talk, didn't they?

That thought stuck, and two days later, Harry apparated to the manor. He didn't think about the last time he'd been here, he didn't think about how the house elf who answered the door wasn't Dobby, he didn't think about what a horrible idea this was and what was he thinking, really, while he sat and waited in a newly renovated parlor. He drank tea that was brewed absolutely perfectly and mused on how hilarious it was that he'd prefer it to be a bit over brewed. Hilarious. Absolutely. The laugh lodged in the back of his throat was _not_ hysteria.

Draco didn't know what to expect. Potter had sent him a book, so he might not hate his guts, but they hadn't communicated past that. Narcissa hadn't said anything about seeing the Boy Wonder at Aunt Andromeda's and Draco hadn't asked because he still hadn't told his mother where he'd disappeared to except to reassure her it had been perfectly legal. His mother's nightmares were of him in Azkaban. She didn't have to say it for him to know it was true.

Draco stood in the doorway and watched Potter fiddle with a teacup as if it held the secrets of the universe. "You know Divination is a load of griffin dung, don't you?" he sneered. His voice shook more than he would've liked.

Potter's head popped up. His mouth flopped open but no words came out. Draco sat carefully across from him. "Well?"

Potter shook his head. "I don't really know. I just thought we should… talk."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Did someone tell you that?" It seemed the sort of thing his therapist would say, at least.

"No." Potter shrugged. "Only we're gonna meet again eventually and maybe we don't want to talk about you being an owl in front of other people."

Potter talked about meeting again so casually. Draco hadn't realized he was concerned Potter would avoid him for the rest of their lives until the weight lifted.

"I'm a registered animagus," he shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Only, you ate owl treats and that seems like the sort of thing you wouldn't want me to bring up."

Draco grimaced. "Like you're one to talk."

Potter tightened his grip on the chair. "It would be decent of you to keep all that to yourself but there's nothing I said that I'm actually _ashamed_ of."

Draco stiffened. "I rather meant you eating the owl treat."

"Oh." Potter blushed. "Well. You shouldn't feed something anything you wouldn't eat. Also…"

Draco stopped him. "Also I know the distinction between having a crush at fourteen and still liking someone now."

"Er. Well. Good." Potter looked up at Draco earnestly. His eyes really were very green. "I don't hate you anymore. I think that's important to clarify, too. I don't really know what I feel about you, but it's not hate."

Draco pursed his lips. "My feelings about you are… also complicated."

Potter nodded enthusiastically, as if they'd just agreed on a favorite quidditch team. "Well, er. Good talk, Malfoy. I'll see you around?"

Draco nodded dumbly and watched Potter flee the room.

...

The next time Draco saw Potter was at Potter's house. It was the first time Draco would officially meet Teddy. He greeted Andromeda politely and when his mother insisted Potter call her Narcissa he supposed he had to give his given name, too. It was tense, and awkward, but Draco got to hold Teddy and the toddler turned his hair white blond before he bounced over to the sofa and switched to blue. The sofa really did look nice, and the curtains were a soft yellow.

"You know owls are color blind," he said to Harry as they watched Teddy do his best to break his neck.

The black-haired wizard blinked. "Really?!"

Draco laughed and Harry shook his head ruefully. "I can't believe your sense of style is still better when you can't see _color._ "

Draco stilled. "Was that… was that a compliment?"

Harry muttered something noncommittal and scooped his godson out of the air.

Harry pulled a platter of egg salad sandwiches out of the fridge and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"It's the only thing I can cook." Harry protested as he elbowed Draco, but it had no force. He then backed away to the opposite end of the kitchen. Draco understood. He didn't know what Potter had been thinking with the physical contact either.

After they'd all settled at the table and completely exhausted the topic of the weather, Andromeda looked around for other conversation starters. "Whatever happened to your owl?"

"Er." Harry glanced at Draco, "It was… temporary. He's gone now."

"Really," Narcissa drawled, and Harry and Draco both cringed. "What kind of owl was this?"

Harry tried to answer vaguely but Andromeda frowned at him. "It was a barn owl. They're very distinctive, Harry."

Harry mumbled something about growing up with Muggles and Draco resigned himself to a long round of questioning when he and his mother returned home.

...

Draco's mother did not, in fact, corner and interrogate him. It was worse. She didn't bring it up, no, but she politely shot down every other topic of conversation until Draco was nearly crawling out of his skin and _he_ brought it up.

"I told you I was attacked by a thestral and didn't have a wand so it took me a few days to get better and come home?"

Narcissa Malfoy hummed an affirmation. Her eyes did not leave her novel. Draco sighed. "I actually crash landed in Potter's yard."

"Did you now?" Draco's mother looked up, but she didn't reach for her bookmark.

"Yes. And he was very nice to me on account of thinking I was an owl." His mother didn't say anything. Draco gritted his teeth. "And that was very nice, actually."

"It sounds like it was a positive experience."

"Yes. Except then Granger went and realized I couldn't be an owl and-" he paused. "Actually did you know you and I are on the cleared list of people who can send Potter mail?" Draco didn't know where that fit into Harry's complicated feelings.

"He did testify at our trials," Draco's mother reminded him.

"Yes," Draco agreed, "but-". He wasn't sure what the difference between not wanting someone to go to prison for life and wanting them to send you mail was but he rather thought there was one. It wasn't really important, though, compared to other revelations. He sucked in a deep breath. "And he thought I was fit when we were fourteen."

Draco's mother smoothed down her page. She raised a perfect eyebrow in what would look like confusion if you didn't know Narcissa Malfoy very well. "Well, yes. You've always been a handsome boy. Was he jealous?"

"No, he wanted to snog me." Draco was rather putting words into Harry's mouth but he'd wanted to snog Harry at fourteen so the spirit of it was more or less true.

"Well does he still want to?" Narcissa did not ask if Draco wanted to snog Harry. It wasn't really necessary. She'd always been horribly good at reading her son.

Draco's negative was too obviously sad. "He hates me. Not completely, but enough that he doesn't like me. He preferred when I was an owl."

Narcissa did not argue even though Draco found he desperately wanted her to. "Why did he like you as an owl?"

"I was nice," Draco answered morosely.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

Draco huffed. "Well mostly. He thought I was prissy and difficult, but he _liked_ it because I hadn't ever… done anything bad," he finished softly. There were some things one didn't say to one's mother. Even if she'd been there, too.

...

Draco showed up on Harry's doorstep clutching the Muggle history book like a lifeline. "I finished this. It was alright," he sneered half-heartedly.

Harry blinked. "Would you… would you like another one?"

Draco nodded and Harry motioned him inside. He shuffled a few stacks and pulled out two books.

"You should get a bookshelf," Draco blurted.

Harry smiled softly. "You'll have to help me pick it out then."

Draco could feel himself blushing, which only made him blush harder. Owls didn't blush, he thought furiously. "I didn't even know what color you'd made the curtains. But. I would still be willing to help." Draco stared determinedly at Harry's left ear. Then he remembered that he'd _bit_ that ear _what in the world had he been thinking_ and instead fixed on the books in Harry's hands. He reached for them, ready to run, but Harry pulled the books back. "Um. You can take both. Or you can stay for a bit and decide which you like best."

Draco thought that was a very silly idea because he'd end up reading both eventually, but he also thought it was absolutely brilliant.

"I do need to try your couch, I suppose."

Harry grinned. "I can make lunch."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Chicken? Or egg salad?"

"I'll have you know I bought sliced turkey."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ask Andromeda or Molly to teach you how to cook."

"Can you cook?"

Draco huffed. "No. But I don't try to, either."

Harry shrugged. "I'll learn eventually. For now, I'm pretty good at ordering take-out."

Draco sank into the couch, not entirely sure if he'd ever make it back out. Harry hummed and made sandwiches. He didn't say anything else, not even when he set a plate on the couch next to Draco and wandered outside with his own, but when Draco picked his sandwich up it was cut into a crown.

Draco nibbled a corner, then set his book aside and followed Harry outside. The black-haired wizard was sat at a rickety metal table. Draco leaned against the door frame.

"You should try growing flowers."

Harry looked up in surprise. "You move like a cat."

"Owl actually. They're also quite silent."

Harry smiled. "I'll update my similes, then."

Malfoy nodded. "Flowers, though." He gestured at the bare patio and the sad patch of mud Harry seemed to be calling a garden. Harry looked around and grimaced. "I thought herbs and vegetables would be… practical."

"For all the cooking you do?" Draco let the disbelief show on his face.

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "I want to cook more," he mumbled soft enough Draco had trouble hearing him.

Draco shrugged. "Alright then. Doesn't mean you can't have a nice outdoor area to eat in. You could put a few pots of begonias out here. Trellis some clematis on the shed. Foxglove by the side of the house. This is south facing so I think it'd be fine."

Harry was watching him ramble. Draco blushed. The gardens had always been his favorite part of the manor, and the part least tarnished by the stay of the Dark Lord. They'd still been trashed by rampaging werewolves, of course, but Draco had thrown himself into their restoration with an enthusiasm he hadn't been able to summon for the house itself.

Harry leaned forward, a strange light in his eyes. "What's your favorite flower?"

Draco thought a moment. "Tulips, I suppose. I rather think you'd prefer peonies, though."

Harry nodded decisively. "I'll plant both."

Draco stood up straight, startled. "What? Why?"

Harry shrugged and grinned. "Because I want to."

Draco frowned. "Harry," he said gently, "what are we doing?"

Harry's eyes shuttered. He shrugged mulishly. "Planning my garden, I guess."

Draco refused to fidget as he stared Harry down. The black-haired wizard toyed with the cuff of his shirt as he avoided Draco's gaze.

"I thought," Harry finally lifted his bright green eyes, "I thought we could be friends." Draco did not ask if Harry would also be planting Granger and Weasley's favorite flowers. He didn't particularly want to give him the idea. Draco winced internally. Jealousy was never a good idea, and it certainly wasn't friendly.

"We were never particularly good at being friends," Draco reminded the other wizard.

"We could be," Harry insisted stubbornly. "We could be friends."

"Even after-" Draco's chest hurt. He didn't want to remind Harry of this, either, but he rather doubted he'd forgotten. Draco hadn't. "Even after- everything?"

Harry pushed back his chair and stood. The movement put him closer to Draco than he'd apparently planned and he started to move back, then stopped. His jaw was firm. "Yes," he insisted. "Yes. Everything. Voldemort. And Dumbledore. And… And everything."

Draco looked into those blazing green eyes. Harry was shorter than him, but he didn't seem it.

"You can't just make it go away." Potter was so bloody _stubborn._

Harry's face softened. "No. We can talk about it. We will. We can go to couple's therapy, even. But it doesn't _matter._ "

Draco's throat seized up. "Cou-couple's therapy?"

"Oh, uh," Harry finally took a step back, running his hand through his hair and blushing, "I mean, I'm sure it's a thing for friends, too."

"Yes," Draco agreed faintly. He narrowed his eyes. "But you don't actually want to be friends."

Harry straightened. "Yes, I do!" He sounded affronted.

Draco shook his head. "No you don't. Because you thought I was attractive in fourth year and you still do."

Harry grimaced. "I… I do want to be friends though. I won't… I won't make you uncomfortable."

Draco felt a small smile growing. "I'm sure a little discomfort would be worth it," he leered, then frowned. "Too much, too fast, wasn't it?"

A wide-eyed Harry nodded in agreement. They shifted awkwardly for a few moments before Harry's head shot up. "You just hit on me! Badly, but-"

Draco resisted the urge to apparate away. He thought the crippling shame might be worth waiting for the end of Harry's thought process to work itself out.

"You did mean that, right?" Harry was right up in his space again.

Draco's face was in flames. Harry didn't need to plant bloody tomatoes, he thought bitterly. "Not as… worded, exactly. But the sentiment that I also find you attractive is correct," he said tensely. Harry's eyes were slightly glazed. Draco resisted the urge to shake him. "I find you attractive. Now. Not in fourth year." He paused and amended, "Not solely in fourth year."

Harry's lips were parted slightly. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away. It was like facing down a bloody gorgon.

"When you get all formal…" Harry breathed. "It's kinda hot."

And then he kissed him. Draco squeaked and Harry drew back immediately.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He cursed. "I completely misread that. I'm so sorry. And I just said I wouldn't make you feel uncomfortable."

Draco grabbed his arm and pulled his face up to look at him. "You, uh, didn't misread that," he said stiffly. "I was surprised."

Harry leaned in again with a soppy smile and Draco held him back by the shoulders with both physical and emotional difficulty. He wasn't quite sure why he was preventing Harry Potter from kissing him, but… "I still need to know what this is."

Harry frowned. "Snogging?"

"Yes. No." Draco gestured between their chests. There wasn't much room. "Us. Do you… do you just like the way I look?" It came out more pleading than Draco was comfortable with and he looked stubbornly to the side. Harry pulled his chin back, eyes serious.

"We don't know each other very well yet, but, er, you were a good owl and I think you're a good person, too, and I'd, er, like to get to know you better. All of you. Not just…" He blushed. "Not just the extremely good-looking packaging." Harry took a deep breath and pressed a closed mouth kiss to the edge of Draco's mouth, then stepped back.

"Draco Malfoy, I'd like to date you."

Harry's tone was so business-like Draco automatically stuck a hand out. He started to pull it back, but Harry caught it with a grin.

"Deal?"

"Deal."

They stood there for a minute, holding hands, before Harry started shifting. Draco raised an eyebrow. He did not let go of Harry's hand.

"We should go on a date," Harry said firmly.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, as if he had not put an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about Muggle films or one-on-one quidditch games. Something Potter had said earlier trumped his previous plans, however. They would keep, he hoped.

"I suppose we could try to cook something. And order take-out when it's inevitably a failure."

Harry grinned. "That sounds brilliant."

It was.


End file.
